


Mother Dearest

by nobody_is_typing



Category: Far Cry, Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M, Mental Abuse, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 00:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobody_is_typing/pseuds/nobody_is_typing
Summary: The Seed brothers get the happily ever after that they deserve. Love, support, and each other!(NOT INCEST)
Relationships: Jacob Seed/Reader, John Seed/Reader, Joseph Seed/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 90





	Mother Dearest

You were lost, so beyond lost, and you didn’t even have a map on you. You’d been driving around long enough to use a quarter tank of gas and basically melt in the midday sun. But there was a small road ahead of you, one that looked like you could turn around and hopefully find your way back to the main road, that’s the best you could hope for at this point. So you took the turn, groaning at the long stretch of one way dirt in front of you, barely noticing the house to your right until you hear a sharp crack echo across the fields and into your sweltering car. A crack you only remember hearing during cattle shows on TV.

But your heart just about stops when you find the source of the noise, a trembling boy with blood smeared across his back, a raging man beating the child over the head with what looked like a rolled-up magazine in on hand and a stiff whip in the other. You don’t even turn your car off, hadn’t even fully put it in park before you’re sprinting towards the house, screaming unintelligibly as the man, utterly startled, staggers back. The boy doesn’t look up, simply flinches and curls further in on himself, the need to comfort him makes you ache.

“Get off my property!” The man bellows, his ugly belly expanding with each inhale and exhale.

“Who in the fucking world do you think you are?” Your voice is strong, even, and full of raw fury.

“This is family business, none of your concern.”

“None of my business?! You are beating a child! You are beating him with an instrument meant for a goddamn animal!” He jerks towards you and you instantly swipe at him with the keys you’d tucked between your fingers. “Do. Not. Do that again.” There’s a promise I’m your tone, a promise of pain and suffering that hell itself fears.

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain on this land, on any land.”

“I don’t care what you say to me, do not come near me again. Step away from the boy.” And, surprisingly, he does. The whip still held in his fingertips. But he drops it when he sees you eyeing it as you kneel next to the child. “Hello,” you murmur, hands hovering over his shoulders like he might burn you. “I’m Y/N.” His back is riddled with new wounds and old scars, it makes you sick, he can’t be any older than 14. “Is this your dad?” He glances up at the man, who sneers and answers for him.

“I never wanted kids, filthy little vermin, got stuck with three of them. Ain’t that ironic?”

“You don’t deserve them.” The boy flinches again. “I’m going to touch you, okay? Just to clean the blood away a little.”

No response.

You take a small package of tissues out of your pocket and unfold one before wrapping it around your finger and dabbing gently at the oozing wounds, drawing a sharp yelp through harshly gritted teeth. There’s stomping from inside the house and you realize your predicament for the first time. Lost in an unfamiliar area, on an isolated road, alone, no one knows where you are. The boy that bursts onto the porch is bigger than the wounded one. He has short scars on his forearms, round burn marks that makes your rage rise once more. You need to help these kids, no matter what.

“Jacob.” The with the glasses says, voice weak and wavering.

“Joseph.” The redhead kneels next to what you assume is his brother before glancing at his back and then at you, his ice blue eyes full of anger. “Who are you?”

“I’m trying to help if you’ll let me.” Joseph grips his brother’s shirt as their father shifts his weight, drawing the attention back to him. Jacob roars and shoves the old man off the porch, jumping down onto him, there’s a scuffle and you refuse to look. You can hear the younger man winning and that’s all you care about. You would probably help these boys bury their father’s body if it came to it. There was no doubt in your mind that the man deserved it. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Yes.”

“What was it about this time?”

“He found my comic book, I spat in the face of God, I should have known better.”

“This is absolutely not your fault. Some people are broken and to make themselves feel better, they try to break the people around them. It’s not you, never you.”

There’s a beat of silence as Jacob drags their father into the middle of the yard and leaves him there, jogging back to the porch with blood covering his hands. You hand him a tissue, more silence.

“Are you going to leave?” Joseph asks, still sounding frightened.

“I will stay as long as you let me, but I have to call the police, he can’t be allowed to do this to you anymore.”

“You want to save these fucks so much, fuckin take em!” Their father staggers to his feet, bloody and mangled, bloodied drool hanging from his chin. You see Jacob stiffen and you reach out to him, hand hovering over his shoulder.

“Without hesitation, I will gladly take you boys with me, we can figure out the details later. But I’ll never be able to live with myself if I leave you all here.”

“Please,” Joseph sobs, blood drying on his skin. He turns to his brother, tears in his eyes. “God has sent us our salvation, please, can we take it.”

“If you need help getting your things, just say so, but anything else I’ll buy for you.”

“We are not projects.” Jacob grits through his teeth.

“No, of course you’re not.” Their father sits back down, grinning and sucking his blood back into his mouth. “My car is running and it’s only an hour to the nearest city, I’ll take you there, we can get you cleaned up, fed, and I swear I’ll take care of you. Neither of you will ever be treated like this again.”

Jacob goes into the house, returns with a stained sheet that he drapes over Joseph’s shoulders, his blood seeping into the fabric. He disappears again and you wipe the sweat from Joseph’s forehead, promising him you’ll patch him up as soon as you can, asking him what he’d like to eat. Anything to keep his attention off of the man in the yard. Jacob is gone for a while before tossing two suitcases onto the porch and finally reappearing with a sleeping baby on his chest. You don’t even bat an eye. “Does he have a car seat?”

“No, Old Mad Seed said it would be God’s will whether he lives or dies.” Jacob cuddles the infant closer to him.

“Your mother?” He simply shakes his head and you nod resolutely, helping Joseph stand, you make your way to your car, coming back for the bags after you get the boys settled in. Joseph in the front, Jacob cradling John to his chest in the back. As you pass by the broken man lying in a heap in the high grass, you look at him long and hard, memorizing his face in case he ever comes for you or his children again. “I’ll come back tomorrow with paperwork, these kids will never see you again.”

“Good, fucking take them and leave.”

The first thing you do is get John a car seat and Joseph enough medical items to clean his wounds, Jacob says they’ve never been to an ER and it doesn’t look like the whip cut too deep so you trust them and let him patch his brother up. They’re so young, only 16, 13, and one. Your mind is reeling, like a revolving door in a storm. But one thing you can focus on perfectly is that these are your children now, you will die to protect them, it’s only been half a day but you are entirely willing to change your life for them. No hesitation. Just during dinner you find out that John loves peaches, Joseph is incredibly well read, and Jacob steals french fries. You make a list of things you need to get for them in the next few days, basics and essentials, just until you make it home. They refuse to add anything to it and you know they’re afraid you’ll change your mind, but you’re in it now, they will never get rid of you.

Their father signs them over to you, happily, and it makes you sick. You’re just satisfied that they’ll never have to see him again, you’d rather kill him first. They drive back with you to your home, the hours spent in the car filled with you suggesting games, telling stories, asking questions that sometimes get stuttered answer, and making faces at John in the rearview mirror. He’s a giggly baby who will only sleep if one of his brother’s is holding his hand. There’s plenty of stops since they won’t tell you if they need to go to the restroom or if they get hungry, but you would not change a moment of it. You will show these children every ounce of love and compassion they can absorb, they will never again have a violent hand laid on them or experience a voice raised in anger.

They’re enrolled in therapy the moment that you get home. Therapy, school, and you even encourage them to try out extracurriculars. Only if they’re comfortable doing so, you won’t pressure them. But they adjust well, Jacob joins sports and begins taking medication for his PTSD and depression, Joseph volunteers at the church near your home, and John loves finger painting in his daycare. They still won’t sleep in separate rooms, despite the fact they can each have their own since you moved to accommodate them. But, no matter what, they’ll all be curled in Jacob’s California King (the one you got specifically for that use), but you insist on taking care of John, diapers, feeding, all of it is now your responsibility and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You want them to be kids, to act like kids, and you’ll do everything you can to help them adjust to their new lives.

John’s first word is “bruber” and you all tear up as he gnaws on his teether, Joseph preaches his first sermon to the youth group and you’re up until 10 pm the night before to help him practice, Jacob becomes distant nearing his 18th birthday until you insist you’ll hunt him down if he moves out before he’s ready. Sometimes, you watch them sleep, a tangled mess of limbs, drool, and soft snoring. Sometimes, you have to hold back tears as you think of how far they’ve come. Sometimes, you cry openly when you tell them how proud of them you are. You cry when Jacob graduates high school, you cry when Joseph becomes a fully fledged Reverend, and you cry when John decides he wants to be a lawyer at just 14.

But most of all you cry when you all move to Hope County and set up a church there, Joseph preaches, John runs PR, Jacob runs the setup and expansion of the congregation. You attend every sermon, watching your children preach love, acceptance, support of each other, and self-care makes you cry. No exceptions.

You never think of that miserable old man who died alone, it’s just your family, your children and their Mother.


End file.
